Blood Queen
by MissyMaestro
Summary: Jorah Mormont has ridden to the ends of the world with Daenerys Targaryen and her khalesaar, but when they hear word of another young Westerosi khaleesi, he never expects to be gazing into a familiar face.
1. Chapter 1

Jorah had paid little attention to the tales; the Dothraki were a people of fables and stories to entertain the children and themselves during long rides. Yet now here she was; a Khaleesi with hair as vibrant as a ruby standing before him. The Blood Khaleesi, the riders called her. She won her khalesaar when her husband died. Fierce in combat and feared as a witch, thousands of riders followed the pale woman, and behind them, thousands more women and children. Khals had bowed to her and joined behind her, not daring to ask her hand in marriage.

Instead of declaring war, Daenerys had been intrigued and demanded to meet the khaleesi her outriders had ridden back with news of. Jorah thought it was a smart move, whether the stories were true or not.

Now the Blood Khaleesi stood alone. She wore the boiled leathers just as a rider and needed no crown. Her long hair was braided and adorned with dozens of bells. Whether she'd earned them with sword or when khals gave up their own rule to join her, Jorah wasn't certain. An akrah hung at her side and a dagger at her other. Something about her seemed eerily familiar to him, but he shook the notion away. He'd have remembered another Westerosi khaleesi.

"Andals?" Her green eyes flickered to Daenerys, then to Jorah. The young queen had clearly expected Dothraki riders instead of two white people. One eyebrow arched curiously.

Daenerys smiled. "By name, yes, but no, we are Westerosi."

"As am I," the Blood Khaleesi replied callously. "How, I wonder, have two Westerosi riders wandered the Red Waste without my knowing? For years I have ruled these sands, warred with the Dothraki, and ridden to survive." Her strong jaw gave her a fierce look, yet she oozed a calm and serenity that she likely even wore into battle. Her voice commanded the attention of anyone could hear it, though it was not unkind. "There's little that happens here without my knowing."

The silver-haired queen looked uncertainly to Jorah, who was admittedly just as perplexed as his charge. "I, too, ride with my own kalesaar. I am Daenerys Targaryen, rightful heir and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Great-"

The red queen waved her hand and interrupted. "Ah, yes, I've heard much about the Targaryens and the Baratheons and the Starks." She nodded and touched her lips thoughtfully. "Stories from my childhood that passed the time and gave us fanciful dreams of knights and queens. Now are you _truly_ one of them? I thought the Targaryens were supposed to have dragons." Impatience flashed across her face.

"I do," Daenerys quickly answered. "I left them at camp as to not seem threatening. I mean you no malice. I hoped we might work together. My riders bring word that you war openly with slavers and seek to free those with masters."

The woman studied Jorah for a moment. "These things are true. You wish to join my cause, yet you've brought your soldier husband with you. Why would you wish to join a ruler you mistrust?"

"He is my general, not my husband," Daenerys replied. "Ser Jorah the Andal," she introduced him. "Now you know our names. What is yours?"

With a coy smile on her lips, the ginger lady shrugged. "I don't have one. The Blood Khaleesi, my riders call me. They'd never seen someone with red hair. They thought me a witch, at first. The names were less kind then, you'll imagine."

"You must have a name," Daenerys scoffed.

Silver bells in red hair rang out as the khaleesi shifted her weight. "None bothered to give me one. It's said my whore mother ran away from her husband and left me in a brothel in Essos. The whores called me many things, but none a true name."

"That's terrible. I'm sorry," Daenerys nodded. "I didn't know my mother, either. Surely your father looked for you?"

The queen hesitated, bemused that her parentage was of such interest to a stranger. "I presume he knew nothing of me. My mother lived at that brothel for the better part of a year, pushed me out and left on her away. Word is she warms a rich merchant's bed. It seems abandoning me was a smart move." The story seemed to make her uncomfortable, but she did not break eye contact. A khaleesi would never. The red woman's demeanor changed and pride rang true in her tone. "But my father was a Westerosi knight, they say. A great warrior who fought with kings. Warring is in my blood. It has served me well and here I am. No name, no family, but a queen."

Jorah had stopped breathing. Daenerys slowly turned her head to look at him. She didn't need to ask. He understood. "How old are you?" Jorah asked slowly.

The queen sneered. "Old enough. If you're wondering after my experience, stop. I could best you in combat, old man, and will take your head from your shoulders before you could draw your sword." Then she turned to Daenerys. "You call yourself a khaleesi, hmm? So young. I'm certain you've faced the same tired old questions from men as well." She glared at Jorah for a moment, then smiled sadly at Daenerys. "You must learn right at this moment that you must be thrice as hard as any man if you want to rule in the Great Grass Sea."

Jorah's feet carried him forward, even as his mind struggled to form thoughts.

The Blood Khaleesi put a hand on her akrah and stood her ground. "Enough. I had hoped not to spill blood today, but I shall should you take another step."

"Lynesse Hightower," he breathed.

When the red haired queen stepped back in surprise, Jorah dropped to his knees. The change on the her face was enough. Her lip curled, then quickly fell back to a neutral expression. Her eyes remained wide and shocked. "Who sent you?" she breathed. The arkah rang as she drew it menacingly. "What do you know of my mother?"

"Her name was Lynesse," Jorah breathed, his body numb and hands trembling. He forced himself to look upon her face; the face he'd sworn he knew but couldn't place. It was familiar because it was so like his own. Her features. Her air. Her personality. _It cannot be._

The red queen nodded but didn't sheathe her weapon. "And who was she to you?"

"My wife," he breathed. "Lynesse Hightower was my wife. She left four and twenty years ago. How – how old-?"

The silent calm had returned to the khaleesi and she nodded once. "Aye. I have four and twenty years."

Daenerys knelt at his side. "Jorah?"

He stared at the red haired queen, only able to blink. "I have a daughter. An heir." Long forgotten memories flooded his mind once again. Lynesse Hightower was the love of his life and he'd thrown everything away for her. Exile, dishonor, hunger, injury; it was all because of her. Looking back, Jorah knew he'd gladly do it again.

"I'll not give my khalesaar to you or fall under your rule," the khaleesi replied shortly. Something in her had changed and her confidence suddenly seemed an act. "Though you may be my father, that changes nothing in my life. I don't live by the Westerosi customs." She turned back to Daenerys. "Should you wish to join my khalesaar, I'll see it done. You'll cut your braid before your men and you'll join my counsel."

"I'll do no such thing," the silver haired queen snapped. "I'll stand beside you as an equal. Why should one of us rule the other?"

"Leyla," Jorah whispered.

The queens glared at him. "What?" the Blood Khaleesi snapped.

"Your name, if you want it." Jorah stood slowly. "Your mother and I were going to name a daughter Leyla, if the gods saw fit to give us one. Leyla. Of House Mormont."

"Mormont?" the queen repeated. "The bear lords of the north." A small smile tugged at her lips. "How fearsome." The Blood Khaleesi's calm returned. "I'm pleased to have found you on the other side of the world, father." She sheathed her akrah and held his gaze for a moment before turning to Daenerys. "Young khaleesi, you seem to need time to consider my offer. I'll meet you here again in the morning. Bring your bloodriders." She turned and swung onto her horse.

"Leyla," Jorah called after her, his heart simultaneously soaring and breaking. "Is there anything you'd ask of me?"

She looked over her shoulder and simply replied, "No, father."


	2. Chapter 2

At first Ser Davos thought the woman with the fiery red hair was Sansa Stark. She was tall and lean, but her leather armor and the weapons on her person convinced him otherwise.

He strode to the shore to meet her. The ginger woman marched toward him, hand on the hilt of her blade. A child, dark skinned with an elaborate braid, sat in the rowboat further down the coast. She clutched a small sword. It was clear they were together.

Nervous but feigning welcome, Davos called out. "I don't believe we've met."

"Take me to the dragon queen," she replied.

"Don't think I can do that," Davos replied. "What's your business at Dragonstone, m'lady?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "I know the Targaryen girl. Take me to her."

"That _girl_ is our queen," Davos chuckled lightly. "Not just anyone can demand an audience with the queen, missy." He studied her and then glanced at the child in the boat again. She was solemn as the woman. The child stared past him, her eyes scanning the shore and pausing at each of the guards. If he didn't know better, Davos would have thought she was scouting the area.

"Missy?" the woman repeated, drawing her arakh. "The queen and her men won't be thrilled to hear you've kept me waiting."

Davos eyed the blade, then motioned for a guard to join them. "All right. No harm done. We'll bring you to the queen."

* * *

Daenerys was so very tired. So, so very tired. She could have slept for days. Maybe she would. No one could tell her otherwise, she thought glumly. There were so few left who could. Viserys. Drogo. Rhaego. Viserion. Jorah. Rhaegal. Missandei. All gone.

Maybe she was alone in the world, but she was still a queen. That thought alone kept her going. And Drogon, hunting somewhere, filling his belly with whatever sea creatures dared swim near the surface.

Someone stirred at the doorway and she looked up.

Davos cleared his throat. "Your Grace. A visitor… from Essos."

Daenerys squinted through the dark room. Who could it be? She had many enemies from across the Narrow Sea. She looked to the interior or the room. Grey Worm was there along with a number of Dothraki. Relief washed over her. An assassin wouldn't fare well here. She was safe, at least.

She didn't bother sitting up straighter or adjusting her hair. She was sure she looked a fright. No sleep. No food. None of it tempted her anymore when all those she loved would never eat or sleep or wake again.

Impatient steps stamped forward into the room. A soft tinkling made Daenerys's heart skip a beat. Memories from another lifetime flooded in. _Drogo?_

But it was a woman, tall and strong, her long red braid woven with bells and leather. She looked down her strong nose at Daenerys. "Greetings, Khaleesi."

Daenerys stared at her as if she were a dream. Years ago, _years_ ago in the Red Waste. She hadn't spared a thought for her ever since. _The Blood Khaleesi._ "You never returned," Daenerys muttered. "I brought my blood riders and you weren't there. I thought we imagined you."

The woman nodded, then rounded the large strategy table, her fingers tracing one coast of Westeros. It stopped when she reached the Lands of Always Winter. "Something's missing, just here," the red woman spoke.

Daenerys blinked. She looked at the part of the map the Blood Khaleesi was gesturing to. It was the far North. There was nothing there but snow and free folks and bears.

 _Bears._

Understanding washed over her. The woman wasn't just the blood khaleesi. She was Jorah's daughter. Daenerys flushed. How did she not see it? She looked every bit a Mormont. Tall, strong and tan in her Dothraki gear, oozing a calm dare for anyone to cross her.

Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut. Yes. Jorah's daughter. Lynesse Hightower's child. Leyla was raised an orphan in the Red Waste, just like her. Lynesse left Jorah, had his child, and abandoned her, too. Jorah never even knew Leyla lived until their chance meeting in the Red Waste. Guilt crushed her. How easily Daenerys forgot the other khaleesi in her conquest for the throne. Jorah never mentioned her, but surely he thought of her every day. How could he not?

She heaved a sigh. "Your father-"

Leyla waved a hand. "When he wasn't outside your door, I knew he was dead." Her long braid bobbed and tinkled. "How did he die? With a sword in his hand?"

"Saving me." Her voice only cracked a little. "He died protecting me." Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut again. She didn't have any tears left. She spent them all. "He died in my arms. He had a place of honor on the funeral pyre. I lit it myself."

Leyla raised an eyebrow. "Against the dead? What a way for a northman to go." When the queen furrowed her brow in confusion, Leyla shrugged. "Word has spread far and wide about the army of the dead. Strange times in the free cities. Rituals, rites to keep the dead away." Leyla sat down at the table and Daenery's stomach dropped. It was Jorah's seat. "You could have called for aid, you know. Perhaps my father would be here breathing down my neck if you had more riders. Your old man knight is kind, but allowed me enter with all of my weapons."

Davos swallowed and stared at his boots. "Rollo let her in, to be fair."

Daenerys tried to pretend the offer didn't wound her. She pretended Leyla wasn't right. Could a few thousand more riders tipped the scales in her favor? _Could_ Jorah have lived? "The entire North fought for us," she defended herself. "Cersei Lannister swore her army to me. I- I had three large dragons."

"Had?"

"Two of them were killed. I lost much that I loved and I'm not even done with the war yet."

Grey Worm cleared his throat from his post by the door. He clearly didn't like how freely Daenerys was sharing information with the outsider, but she ignored him. She studied the arkah at Leyla's hip and felt no semblance of fear. "I'm sorry for Ser Jorah's death. You came all this way just to hear the terrible news."

Leyla nodded solemnly. "You loved him, then? I can see it on your face."

"I did," she replied. "Just not the way he wanted."

The redheaded woman smiled knowingly. "We don't always we what we want."

If Leyla was angry with her, Daenerys would never know. Her face was a mask, tan and long. It was so similar to her father's. She wasn't certain whether she wanted to send the woman away to stop pain or keep her by her side to remind her of what she'd lost.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Leyla said. "I had hoped to introduce him to his granddaughter."

"You have a child?" Daenerys stuttered. "Can – can I meet her?"

Leyla nodded once and motioned to the door.

Davos ushered the girl in. "This is lady Jahelli," he announced fondly. "Doesn't talk much."

The girl, perhaps seven, stood stoic and still before her. Half Westerosi, half Dothraki, she was tall and strong. The quiet knowing in her face made Daenerys want to cry. She dropped to her knees and touched the girl's face. "I wish he could see you," she whispered. "He would have been so proud. You look like a good, strong rider. He would be _so proud._ "

Jahelli watched her with suspicious green eyes. "You are a friend of House Mormont?"

"Yes," Daenerys whispered. "Yes. Your grandfather was a good friend to me. I miss him very much."

Leyla kicked her feet up on the table. "Very well. I'll do it."

Daenerys tore her eyes away from Jahelli. "I'm sorry. What will you do?"

"My daughter and my blood riders will go to Bear Island. I assume she will be welcome there. She's a true-born Mormont. My riders speak the common tongue and can earn their keep in my stead."

"Bear Island has no lord," Davos offered sadly. "House Mormont was lost in the battle at Winterfell. Sansa Stark will decide who the next lord will be. We can see to it that Lady Jahelli and your riders are welcomed with open arms."

Daenerys nodded her approval. "But what will you do?" she asked again.

Leyla sat up straight once again. Her boots thudded as they dropped back to the floor. In a fluid motion she drew her arkah and threw it upon the table.

The guards moved forward with cries of outrage but Daenerys stilled them with the wave of a hand.

Leya Mormont leaned on her hand thoughtfully. "I'll finish my father's work. I'll see you on the Iron Throne."


End file.
